When man emerged from the millions of years of evolution in the Early and Late Stone-ages he had shed his ape-like characters; he was erect, large-brained, and he had become an agriculturist and a craftsman. He must have wondered—as we wonder still—at the sun, the moon and the stars, the land and the sea, the thunder and lightning, at his own birth, and growth and death. Endowed with intuition and reason, and with curiosity, he must have concluded— as we conclude—that all this did not explain itself. There must have existed, and still exist, Something Else, that he could not perceive and did not understand. Endowed also with imagination, he peopled the earth and the sky with spirits—gods and demigods, ghosts and fairies, demons and angels. There followed beliefs in direct communication from this other world, through dream or trance, ecstasy or intuition; sometimes an individual assurance of personal contact and inspiration. So religion came to be: in the form, first of animism, then of mythology, finally of monotheism.

In asking me to talk about Hegel in your series on synoptic philosophies, I take it that you were anxious to discover whether there are any positive merits in Hegel's ideas. I need hardly remind you that such an approach to this particular philosopher is not a very common one in this country to-day. Indeed, of all those who have been thought, at one time or another, to have produced ideas of lasting philosophical importance, Hegel is at present easily the least in repute. Nor is it the case with him as with certain other writers (Spinoza, for instance, or some of the Scholastics) that his ideas are uninteresting or unintelligible to the present generation but are thought all the same to be likely to have an appeal and an importance at some future date when the general intellectual climate has changed; the common verdict on him is far less friendly than that. If opinions on the subject were canvassed among students of philosophy in Great Pritain to-day, there can be little doubt that the majority would write Hegel off as the supreme example of a philosopher who tried to construct an elaborate metaphysical system in the most blatantly a priori manner, and who succeeded in getting himself taken seriously only because of his adroitness in verbal tricks.

If one takes a course in philosophy to-day at a British university, a discreet silence is usually observed about existentialism. Often the professors understand little of its methods or its doctrine. If their excuse in part is the inaccessibility in English of standard existentialist texts, it is true also that philosophers trained in the “critical philosophy” now in vogue feel a certain aversion to existentialism or, at all events, to the notion they have formed of it. If Christianity was a scandal to the Greeks and remains a scandal, as Dr. Brunner has recently told us, to contemporary humanists, existentialism is a scandal to the positivists. The latter are aware that the existentialists habitually trespass in the fields of religion, ethics, aesthetics and psychology, fields which, on the positivist view, should be reserved to other disciplines than philosophy, which has its own distinctive subject-matter and approach. They know that certain existentialists, notably Heidegger, provide a happy hunting ground for examples of “metaphysics.” They have heard that existentialism has sought to turn the tables on positivism by accusing it, if not of metaphysics, at all events of a barrenness of significant content, of a preoccupation with mere logistics which removes philosophy completely from men's business and bosoms. If the positivist accuses the existentialist of perpetrating “nonsense” in a technical sense, the latter retorts by accusing the positivist of reducing philosophy to nonsense in a pragmatic sense.

The many comments on good and evil found in the writings of A. N. Whitehead are exhibited in his mind against the two categories of positive and negative value. His concern in value-considerations is with the “trinity” of truth, beauty and goodness on the one hand, and with falsehood, ugliness and evil on the other. For him, “value” is a word employed for “the intrinsic reality of an event” and very frequently in his treatment of the value-theme he uses the term “importance” as having equivalence to “value.”

In this paper I shall do three things. Firstly, I shall distinguish between three senses of “imagine”: one in which (the context makes clear that) the word is used to report the occurrence of mental imagery; a second in which “imagined” is used as substantially equivalent to “thought”; and a third in which “imagine” is used as substantially equivalent to “suppose.” (And I shall argue that in neither of the two latter senses does imagining necessarily involve imagery.) Secondly, I shall discuss Hume's thesis about imagination: both because, although this is set out as a plausible (but mistaken) generalization about psychology, it nevertheless seems to me that Hume dealt with a central philosophical problem concerning imagination—the relation of descriptions to imagery—in a way that is suggestive and fruitful; and—the main reason for mentioning Hume—because a study of the relation between imagining (when this is imaging) and imagining (when this is supposing) will help us to reinterpret his thesis from a mistaken one about psychology into a correct one about logic and language. Thirdly, I shall give the central arguments and the conclusion of the chapter on Imagination in The Concept of Mind, and comment on them.